


A World of Mirrored Tints

by ObviouslySketchy



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, D&D Magic Still Works in Thedas for Some Reason, Medieval Characters in Thedas, Tevinter Imperium, The Executors, it's a mess tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-12 22:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11746626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObviouslySketchy/pseuds/ObviouslySketchy
Summary: It begins with a discovery.





	1. Far from Eye and Ear

**Author's Note:**

> I've had my eye on this idea ever since I saw a post on tumblr about combining the last two games I've played. They were Inquisition and Pillars of Eternity which got me thinking about Dungeons and Dragons and about the awesome spells and races and freedom of the game.
> 
> And, to be honest, I wanted to fuck with Thedas because my main fanfiction is kicking my butt.

Inquisitor Trevelyan is a very generous person, Elion thinks, watching the woman worry over unsigned treaties and visiting nobles. She took pity on the poor druid when she found her shivering by the meager light of a campfire in the constant downpour of the Storm Coast and decided to add Elion to her ragtag team of adventurers. Elion has yet to disclose her origins to other people but she guesses that 'mad apostate living in the wilds' is better than 'otherwordly creature we can exploit'. See, she can rationalize.

Evelyn Trevelyan wants to save the world from the giant hole in the sky and that reminds Elion of her own band of misfits so much that sometimes she cannot help the sting in her eyes. Their situation is familiar, almost parallel and Elion decides that new friends are always welcome, especially when she is stranded on an unknown plane of existence. She has yet to find Port, Goma and Amarra and she _knows_ they're here, Elion can feel it with every fiber of her being as the scrying spell connects her to them. It wouldn't work if they weren't on this plane, she assures herself.

So all Elion has to do is find her family and _Plane Shift_ them out of here back to their own reality where Big Baddie #4 is scheduled for a meeting with Goma's greatsword. _Again._

_I mean seriously, what even are you?_ Elion remembers Amarra yelling while trying to dodge a prismatic spell aimed at them.  _Wizard? Warlock? We killed you once already, can nothing on this plane stay dead?_  Elion believes that somewhere in the Shadowfell the Raven Queen holds daily games of chance where the winner is awarded with resurrection. And wouldn't that be a hoot and a half; the gods have already turned their backs on the Material Plane, why should the Lady of Death be any different?

But alas, different times, different goals.

Elion steps into the Inquisitor's chambers, voice lowered so as to not disturb the bird sleeping inside the room. The great parrot/crow/eagle/thing that classifies as a bird on this plane was presented to the woman leading the Inquisition as a token of _'Thank you for not booting me out of your castle. It's very big and cold and I know I complain a lot for someone who used to live in the wilds but I have no idea where I am so please love me.'_

Elion is embarrassed to admit that she wrote the entire thing down in a dwarven alcohol induced haze - then promptly burned it the next day not only because of the horrendous handwriting but also because the entire thing was written in Gnomish.

"Hey, something I can help with?"

"You're here. Good. You can be the one to let Cassandra know we're leaving in two days." Elion snickers.

"Afraid she'll tear you a new one?"

"There are few things in this world I fear, Elion, and Cassandra Pentaghast is at the top of that list." Evelyn replies, voice devoid of humour. She has a point; Elion saw the way that woman wields her sword and while she might not have The Iron Bull's strength, [Also, can she talk about Qunari and the fact that apparently, that's how Dragonborns look in this world? What a _mess_. The skintone and height reminds her of a goliath and Elion is pretty sure he lacks scales or _firebreath_. But who is she to point fingers when _her_ world has floating eyeballs with an extra side of baby eyeballs for hair?] she can most certainly chop a man's head clean off with one swing. Elion knows, she saw her do it.

"Alright, alright, I'll play the messenger. Where are we going?" Elion questions, confident in her place at Evelyn's side. It's an unspoken rule that wherever the Inquisitor goes, Elion will follow at her heels like a duckling - her divine magic helped Elion secure a place in the Inquisitor's inner circle and she'll be damned if she lets anyone replace her. At least not yet. The rifts spread throughout this plane are many and only the Inquisitor can close them - which means that Elion gets to travel the land and, hopefully, find her friends along the way.

And the Inquisitor can be well protected by someone _skilled_ at magic, not her little mage companions who think building wards and casting ice spells and flame barriers is impressive. Can they _Shapechange_ into a dragon? Or a Pit Fiend? _That's what she thought._

Granted, Elion has yet to successfully cast that spell, but she will. _Soon._

Evelyn sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose in what's probably meant to be a calming gesture. The wrinkles in her brow grow more pronounced. "Emerald Graves. Some Orlesian noble left his villa defenceless and now it's under bandit occupation. Thinks the Inquisition is his personal cleaning service but Josie insisted we need his alliance so we gotta smoke them out."

Elion knows that area. "Is that the forest obsessed with wolves?"

She cannot help the skip in her heartbeat when Evelyn replies with a distracted nod. _Elion knows that area._  Has seen it in her divination spells. The giant trees. The statues. _Goma._  Suddenly her interest in their destination grows.

"You know," Elion begins, in what she hopes is a casual tone. "I _could_ shorten the time required to get there."

"Really?" Evelyn counters, raising one dark eyebrow. And, okay. Elion deserves the skepticism. Last time she roped Evelyn into one of her plans, they almost got crushed by mama High Dragon. Okay, it wasn't _technically_  Elion's fault but she honestly believed reasoning with the beast would be more beneficial than fighting it - how was she supposed to know that _these_ dragons don't speak Draconic? _Or any language other than roaring really loud?_

Elion grins, the candlelight making her eyes twinkle. "Two days, you said. Then meet me in the garden. Pack lightly."

 

* * *

 

Two days pass. At the break of dawn on the third day, Evelyn, beautiful, trusting, merciful Evelyn meets her in the garden along with her chosen team. Elion doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the trust she is shown. The tree she leans on is the biggest she could find; one that could fit Bull's horns and wide shoulders because the qunari man is as much a permanent fixture in Evelyn's party as Elion is. This expedition group consists of Cassandra, Solas, The Iron Bull and Varric. The Inquisitor knows better than to haul Sera along when Solas is present and vice versa - if she values her sanity, that is.

"Inquisitor, what's this about?" Solas questions because _of course_ she would bring Solas, the resident _Fade Expert_   _who knows all about the rifts._ It's not that Elion hates the elf.

[Okay, she does. His arrogance is immeasurable and one of his favorite pastimes is pestering her about how she doesn't look like a _real elf_  and how  _wrong_ her magic is and how she's not supposed to shift into a _rage demon_. It's not like it was _her_ fault. She never saw a rage demon before, how was she to know people would react so badly at her fire elemental form? It took days of vague explanations before Cassandra trusted Elion enough to allow her close to Evelyn but that's all in the past, surely.]

"Elion believes she can take us to the Emerald Graves." Evelyn declares. It's not very convincing.

"We do not have time for  _games,_ Elion." Cassandra mutters from her side. Alright, perhaps the animosity between Cassandra and her is not a thing of the past. _Yet.  
_

_Ye of little faith._ Were the action not demeaning to her mature personality, Elion would pout.

"I know what I'm doing. Wouldn't you rather avoid sore muscles? I'm doing you all a favor, really."

"Inquisitor, I insist we return to the castle's gates and-"

"Go on, Elion."

"Well the short version is I can teleport you through this tree." Elion does not appreciate the blank looks she is given.

"You want to... teleport us. Through a tree. In the middle of Orlais." Poor Varric. His life has come to the point where the books he writes seem tame in comparison with his everyday life.

"Well not exactly the middle. You see, the map I saw shows that-"

"Elion. Focus."

"Right. I can only keep it open for six seconds so line up, everybody. Rush through the second I open it, okay?" Elion's hand is already on the tree; all she has to do is give shape to the divine magic simmering under her skin. She hasn't had the chance to try this spell yet; time to see if it works on this plane as well.

You know, perhaps she shouldn't test her spells on the woman holding the key to saving this plane but one thing Elion is not known for is her common sense so she grins, wide and almost buzzing with the amount of magic gathering in her body before the spell is released, wisps of golden energy entering the tree and cutting a gash in the middle of its trunk that expands to show a swirling portal. Beyond the shifting energy she can see blurred outlines of trees.

"How did you-"

"Six seconds! Go!" And they do, some of them in various states of confusion. The other side is filled with vegetation and warmer than the Frostback Mountains.

"We just walked through a tree. Is that normal?" The Iron Bull questions, growling the words through gritted teeth. Elion blinks, taken aback. Perhaps his experience was not as pleasant as hers?

"Is this something you can do, Chuckles? I figured out of all of us, you would-"

"No."

_Mages can't do that here. Riiight..._

Elion's smile grows. "I'm _special."_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, there is no method to this madness. Just snippets. Onehots, twoshots, multiple shots. Kinda like a rifle. Okay, bad pun, moving on.
> 
> I don't think there's going to be a concrete plot to this, and some oneshots might delve into the previous Dragon Age games, not just Inquisition. Because of this, I can say that I am open to some manner of prompts on my tumblr, [Obviously Sketchy](http://obviouslysketchy.tumblr.com/).
> 
> You know, I wanted this druid character to be kinda confused and a smartass and a little broody but now I am stuck with a Sylvan-blooded elf whose friends are not around so they can keep her bad ideas in check.


	2. We Had Grown as Gods

The temple she's in bears an uncanny resemblance to Windgarden.

It's not the architecture. Windgarden Sanctum stood isolated at the top of the Stormwall Mountains while this temple overlooks the sea. This temple is warm where her home was cold and the sea is a constant background noise while she has grown up with howling winds and snow.

It's _not_ Windgarden.

But sometimes when she is deep in meditation Keeper Turgen's presence hovers at the edge of her senses. Always watching, always assessing. He was the only Keeper who insisted on personally teaching the initiates and with time he became something resembling a father figure to Amarra and the rest of them. Sometimes her focus falters and her stance slips from the sound of wind chimes that claws at her heart.

_We endure._  The words were whispered as mantras to protect against the cold when meditating under the great tree the Sanctum was built around. The words gave control over unruly emotions and helped soothe fatigue in the dead of night.

She looks upon this temple by the sea and feels the lump in her throat grow. _We endure._

And they will. Goma, Port, Elion;  _she_ will endure because she cannot bear to entertain the thought that they're not- that the spell-

No. They had to retreat, one moment more and they would have been nothing but specks of dust on the castle floor. Amarra had to give the order otherwise they wouldn't have survived.

_But did they? Lost in a plane you know nothing about with no familiar face in sight - how certain are you of their survival?_

They are alive. They have survived adult dragons and hordes of undead. They stood strong against the madness of the Shadowfell. They battled demons and devils and gained the allegiance of Planetars - it  _cannot_  end now.

_Elion will find her. If not, Port will._ Divination spells can show a person's whereabouts and Amarra reasons that a temple by the sea is easier to locate than a generic forest. The thought is one of the only things keeping her sane.

 

* * *

 

Weeks pass. The language of the region is unknown to her but some of the faithful of this temple have taken to teaching her the occasional word. In the mornings she joins the others in the chapel and listens to the prayers flowing through their lips in a unified song.

Amarra joins the servants in cleaning and cooking - when the recipe is simple enough. Anything to show her gratitude at their generosity. Harboring a nonbeliever in a temple so focused on their respective divinity must not come without its hurdles and Amarra is determined to do whatever she can to remain in their good graces.

Religious imagery is chiseled into the very walls - depictions of a featureless humanoid and a horned giant. She is uncertain whether the two gods are allies or rivals. Statues of these deities line the halls and tainted glass speaks of their battle as well as revelry. Occasionally Amarra will spy a sign that stands apart from the others: a triangle pointing down, two wavy lines through it. She sees it on a few robes and some of the supply crates in the kitchens.

(The temple's robes are tight to the skin but not uncomfortable. Light ocean colors trimmed with gold. Elion would like them.)

Amarra's meditation techniques have caught the attention of this place's - the word is still unfamiliar to her but the status reminds her of Windgarden's Keepers so she refers to them as such - Keepers and at their request she demonstrates the talents she has learned in the Sanctum. Windgarden's Keepers chose to focus their teachings on a single monastic order - Way of the Open Hand. Amarra glides through stances that have become ingrained in her being and cannot help her proud smile at their reactions.

But temple life is not for her, not anymore. Not when Amarra has spent years traveling with two of the loudest people she has ever met. Not when the thrill of taking down a beast twice her size has become an everyday occurrence.

She dreams of them. Some nights, when she's lulled to sleep by waves breaking against the stone below she plays through memories of their adventures. The time when Port got into a bar fight and Goma had to beat her way out because he was - and still is - too scrawny to withstand a proper mercenary punch. The time when they traveled to the Feywild and the Seelie Court charmed Elion into turning against them. The time when Amarra found a quarterstaff that later turned out to be possessed.

Two weeks later the Keeper knocks on the door to Amarra's chambers and gestures for her to follow. "Come."

She stands up from the ground and follows him to the front of the temple. There, people in robes wearing the same inverted triangle she has seen scattered around the temple sit talking among themselves.

The Keeper strides forward and bows, one fist over his heart and a hand behind his back. The strangers return the greeting and Amarra hears her name spoken a few times in the following conversation. Amarra tries to listen but they speak too fast and by the time she can recognize one word and translate it they have already moved on to another sentence. At last, they turn towards her and one of the robed figures steps forward, arms spread wide.

"Otherworldler." Common spills forth from the man's lips. "Welcome to the land across the seas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OEaaB gave me a writer's block so I'm trying to cure it. Unfortunately, it did not go as expected - "Sure, brain, make my writing easier by making me write about an obscure land in the DA universe because worldbuilding three things at once is not stressfull /at all/."
> 
> I swear I have an idea, at least, of where I'm going with it.
> 
> If you spot any spelling mistakes please let me know! :3


	3. Though He Calls Himself a Lamb

“Manaveris Dracona.” The woman in front of Porthas proclaims, raising her glass in a salute. Port has no idea what the words mean but he’s pretty sure one of them might have been an insult judging by how pleased she looks. He’d be raising his own glass too if only to show her he’s not defeated yet were his hands not chained together by manacles.  
  
He watches how the woman – Magister she presented herself but Port still has no idea if it’s a title or a common name that sounds weird because of the language difference. Oh, he’s met people like that before and nothing’s more confusing than yelling duck at someone who is about to be impaled by a javelin and have them straighten up because their gods damned name _is_ Duck. Porthas wonders if the poor sod’s parents were that unoriginal people or if they looked at eachother one honey-mead filled night and went _You know what would be a great idea?_

  
The guards stationed on either side of Magister’s desk step forward and place a hand on Port’s shoulders. He really doesn’t have time for this.

  
“Look,” Porthas begins, channeling all the power of his charisma into a bright smile that showcases his sharp teeth. “How about a counter offer? Why waste your resources on a nobody like-“

  
“Oh but I disagree, dragon man.”

  
“Dragon _born_.”

  
“Yes, you are. The Qunari are a poor imitation in comparison. I look forward to finding more of your species.” Going by the hungry look in her eyes, Port is certain that exchanging pleasantries with other members of his race is the last thing she wants to do.  
  
_Okay_. Clearly, mistakes were made. In hindsight, strolling into a public place when one has no idea where they are should be done carefully and under the guise of an Alter Self. Porthas makes a mental note of that, lest he encounter even more folk that look at him as if he were a piece of meat - is it a kinky thing?  
  
"Personal chambers will be provided to you henceforth." Magister beckons the guards closer and turns away from him. Porthas swallows.  
  
"Bring him."  
  
And this is how Porthas finds himself under house arrest, staring at a set of double-doors that mock him with their arcane electric hum. The bedroom is just as lavish as the rest of the house but he has no time to admire the well-decorated chambers. The two guards posted inside the room have been following his every move for the past couple minutes as Porthas has been leisurely walking around, mentally assessing his escape routes. He most certainly cannot fight them - he hasn't thrown a proper punch his whole life and despite Goma's desire to turn him into...well... _her_ , his combat skills are nonexistent.  
  
_However..._ He makes his way to one of the windows and peers outside. A beautiful view of the gardens is laid before him, along with the high walls surrounding the estate. _Magic_ is the one thing he has spent time perfecting.  
  
Port grins, a slow reveal of sharp teeth as he fixes his gaze to the most distant point of the garden he can see and whispers the incantation for _Dimension Door._  
  
It was certainly fun while it lasted, if fun can also be defined as temporary horror at his fate, Port thinks, while the spell completes and teleports him out of the room. He lands next to some shrubs cut into the shape of an animal he does not have the time to acknowledge, words already spilling forth from his mouth for his next spell - _Invisibility._  
  
That wasn't so bad. All he has to do now is escape this lady with an unhealthy fascination for dragons and find somewhere to spend the night. How hard can it possibly be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm slowly but surely getting back into the writing game. Thank god.


	4. In Darkness, Camaraderie Doesn't Hold

In the amount of time Goma and the others have traveled together she has learned to hate transportation magic.

Rigged teleportation circles, botched dimension doors, banishing spells and now _this._ To say she is angry would be an understatement. Not at Elion, gods no, the girl did her best in a situation with no escape, but at the concept of magic in general. Divine granted powers come with their ups and downs and Goma is no stranger to that. 

Trees with heavy canopies surround Goma, their massive roots growing in and out of the earth. She can hear the occasional bird call and the sound of running water in the distance. _Too loud to be a river. Waterfall, perhaps?_ The sun shines brightly between branches and bathes the forest in a golden glow that accentuates every shift and rustle of nature. This is not the Shadowfell. 

Goma bends down and picks up her warhammer, testing its weight before sheathing it on her back, her other hand already rummaging through her pockets for a healing potion. Best to save her remaining spells for now. The familiar herbal blend seems to gain a life of its own and the dormant magic contained in the bottle slips rushes through her bloodstream, spreading to muscles and organs. The growing burn at the edges of her wounds signals the healing magic has found its mark but Goma never fails to grimace at the sensation.

"Now to find the others." If only it was that simple. With her current magic reserves she can't attempt a _Locate Creature_ spell. Where in the hells is she, anyway? It _looks_ like the Material Plane. Blackwood?

It is _not_ the Blackwood, Goma decides while dancing out of the way of an arm engulfed in red crystal. She pivots and slams the hammer into the creature's side. A part of the crystal armor cracks and splinters off, some flying past her. Song surges into her thoughts, soft and soothing while the crystal underneath her hammer pulses red.

Goma swears and jumps back from the creature in time to avoid an arrow aimed for her leg. The crystal giant turns - too slow - and swings again but Goma is already out of its reach, heading straight for the archer. Her hammer hums and crackles with the energy gathering on its surface.

The archer makes to nock another arrow - slow! - but her weapon comes down on the arm holding the bow. Goma grins, gums showing as _Inflict Wounds_ is released and the web of necromantic energy transfers from the hammer up the archer's arm. Another swing, this time aimed for the man's head, brings him to his knees and the last attack is just enough to knock him unconscious.

She huffs and straightens up, turning to face the creature that has been slowly hobbling its way to her. "Okay, big fella. Time to go to sleep."

Something whizzes through the air and sinks through the cracks in the creature's armor. Then another. And another. She glances back in time to see two human silhouettes duck bad behind the trees. Friend or foe?

With a strong exhale Goma throws the hammer. It whizzes through the air and connects with the creature's torso, breaking off more of the armor. The hammer flies back into her hand and she takes aim again.

The following minute is spend chiseling away the armor and dealing the finishing blow. Goma is sickened by what lies beneath - a human face, half eaten away by the mineral. The eyes are bloodshot and blazed over. She grimaces at her weapon and bends down to wipe its sides on the ground - she hopes that whatever it is it's not contagious.

"You can come out now, the big bad walking crystal is dead." She calls out, standing up upon finishing her inspection and taking one step towards the treeline. An arrow embeds itself into the hearth at her feet. Goma raises an eyebrow, hoisting the hammer over her shoulder.

"Now that's just rude. We had a bonding moment!"

"Who are you? Are you with the Freemen?"

"If I say I am, will that makes you less likely to shoot me in the neck?" There's a long pause that follows in which she grins. Slowly, the hammer is lowered to the ground in a sign of non-aggression.

"Call me old fashioned but I like to have my conversations face to face." Two figures emerge from the shadows and step forward, bows held at the ready. Goma snorts. They don't plan on keeping their bows nocked the entire time, do they? That just makes for a sloppy shot and unnecessary stress - not that she's complaining.

"So, who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"I'm Clara. He's Oskar." Goma nods in response and points to herself.

"Goma. Mind telling me where I am? I seem to have ended up in quite the predicament." The elf lowers his bow and releases the string at last.

"Are you one of the refugee prisoners? How did you escape?" Refugees? _Elion, where the devils did you sent us to?_

"Sweetheart, do I look like a prisoner?" She laughs. "I'm just a fellow dwarf who took a wrong turn through the planes. So. Where am I?"

"Emerald Graves - if you're not a prisoner or part of the Freemen then...?"

"Take a wild guess." The two exchange a knowing glance and Clara steps forward, sheathing the bow on her back and extending a hand in greeting.

"Well met, Goma. I see the surface is not treating you as well as you probably expected." _The surface?_

"I would have dressed nicer if I knew I had a welcome committee." She replies, poking the corpse at her feet with the tip of her boot.

Oskar nods. "You fight well. And some help would be appreciated in beating down the Freemen." Goma's eyebrows shoot upwards.

"I'm gonna give you a moment to think that through, sweetheart. Most people would be outraged at the offer of cutting down free men."

"N-no I mea--" Oskar's stuttered apologies are stopped short with a glare from Clara. As the woman turns back to Goma she pins her down with a dark look.

"Most people, yes. What about you?"

Goma grins again. "Who's your leader?"

 

* * *

  

The two bring her before a human that goes by the name of Fairbanks. It sounds faker than the pleasantries she's forced to exchange along the way, but Goma is not here to judge, considering her new friends are under the impression she used to live underground like some godsdamned gopher. Fairbanks smiles and offers to take her in as another refugee. The snort she gives in response is loud and more than likely, insulting.

"I'm not some damsel that gets all a tizzy at the first sign of conflict. But there _is_ something else you can do for me." Goma leans back on her heels and presents him with a smile reserved for sparking tavern brawls. "Your people saw me fight; I am more than capable of holding my own. I will gladly join your rebel group in exchange for information."

"What do you need?"

"The surface can be... overwhelming for someone like me. All I want is information, enough to gain my footing here." He frowns.

"Orzammat didn't tutor you in surface affairs?" Goma thinks back on the Shadowfell and Elion's spell. She tsks.

"My departure was sudden and not under the best of circumstances."

A moment passes. Two. Fairbanks releases a breath and nods. "Welcome to Watcher's Reach, Goma."

 

* * *

 

"I have to say, I like your view a lot better than mine." The copper dragonborn says, pointing a clawed finger behind her. Goma folds her arms, not breaking eye contact. Behind her, the waterfall continues to pelt that ridiculous wolf statue. Some of the water droplets land on her back and cause her to shiver.

_He's getting better. The first time he tried_ Dream _he got trapped into Amarra's nightmare._ Goma had to slap them awake to break the spell and even then, the two avoided eachother for days.

"Spare me the pleasantries. Where the fuck are you?"

"I... don't know. Yet."

"What do you mean you don't know? Did you try reaching the others?"

Port sighs, breaking their one-sided staring contest and taking a seat on the stone bench next to her. "My spells can only do so much. Do you know where you are?"

"Emerald Graves. Pretty forest, creepy name. You?"

"In a city? Being chased by a dragon obsessed madwoman- It's _fine_ , it got better!"

"Porthas!" She smacks him with the back of her armored hand and Port jumps back on his feet, rubbing his arm.

" _Listen._ I'm handling it. Try not to draw attention to yourself until we find eachother, alright?" Goma laughs, raising a hand to touch the symbol hanging from her neck: five dragon claws arranged into a star. She can already feel Port's magic fading away. The spell is ending.

"Don't chip your scales, dragonborn. It's you I'm most worried about."

Port smiles and bows. "Sweet dreams, Goma."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, I first wanted to make her a goliath or dwarf barbarian but Eymaizee came up with an amazing counter: dwarf paladin. The idea was great, thank you for suggesting it to me! 8D
> 
> For everyone else who is not that much into D&D as I am, I present: Goma, Paladin of Tiamat, The Avaricious, Nemesis to the Gods. The plot chickens!
> 
> At least I think so. Idk man, I have so many ideas for the ending but it might be too on the nose. We shall see.


	5. Remembering Days and Words That Were

Goma asked Elion once, when bad weather forced their group to set camp under one of the trees that borders the Blackwood, about her childhood.

“How the fuck did they keep you still long enough to teach you?” The words are harsh but Elion knows they aren’t meant as an insult so she grins between bites of perfectly roasted chicken. Port’s arcane mansion is but a floating door invisible to anyone but them and inside, each room is fully furnished and worthy of a king. As if the dragonborn would be caught sleeping in anything less.

“They don’t teach you how to be a druid, silly, nature picks you. They merely awaken it and then guide your powers into developing properly.”

“Yeah, whatever, _that_. How does that work?” Elion merely smiles in response and stands up from the table, her plate of food picked at but not even halfway finished.

“It’s better to just show you,” she lies, “maybe you’ll get to see it. If we ever travel back north.”

What she doesn’t say is that Elion never intends for Goma to see it – for any of them because she knows the ordeal would raise more questions than she’s comfortable with. That night she kicks off the ridiculous amount of pillows on her bed and lies awake, staring at the paintings covering her walls. She’s deep in the past now, among memories that cling to her heart like tar.

She remembers a village of wooden houses built high above the ground, recalls rites to a silent goddess made on the stump of an enormous tree. Elion closes her eyes and sees herself standing in line at the top of a cliff, the beat of drums a stead vibration in her bones. The line moves – friend, foe, strangers no older than Elion but always younger, much younger, they rush forward and with a cry fling themselves off the precipice. Above, the sky is blue and purple. Elion remembers her turn.

In the memory she takes a deep breath and dives off, gaze falling on the jagged rocks beneath. She sees them cutting through waves like butter so Elion closes her eyes when they begin to sting and tells herself it’s because of the wind.

Not too long now. One eye cracks open; the rocks are much closer.

Something builds in Elion’s chest: a ball of pressure that pushes against her ribs, growing larger until she fears they may break and just as her breath hitches and fear grips her heart like a constrictor snake, the ball explodes.

Elion’s body grows numb. She sees light, hears a scream, feels her throat aching and knows that she’s alive. She’s alive and she has wings and her eyesight is the clearest it’s ever been. Elion looks around for her future brothers and sisters and sees some of them in different manner of winged creatures, soaring into the morning sky.

She has passed the final test. Below them, the rocks are stained red.

Elion lets the memory end and slowly returns to the present when she feels herself on the brink of diving into another one. Her eyes are dry, just as the skin around them. For a few moments she lets herself listen to the ever present music inside the mansion; a whisper of something she may have heard Port hum at times for the tune is familiar and brings her comfort.

She brings her hands close to her chest, playing with the bead bracelet adorning her left wrist.

“We’re so close,” she whispers to it and smiles when the melodic tunes of Sylvan answer her.

 

* * *

 

“You want to go back? But we’re so close!”

“Elion,” Elion frowns. She knows this tone of voice, Evelyn has used it enough on her whenever she does something unexpected or unnatural for this world. It’s the tone of placation, the tone of _‘don’t take this the wrong way but’_ and it sets her teeth on edge. “none of us thought you could walk through trees. We didn’t come nearly as prepared as we should be.”

“I can’t send you back.”

“Elion…”

“She’s lying!” Elion’s sight is blocked by heavy armor and knows without having to check that Cassandra’s eyes have darkened with annoyance. She sees the woman’s fingers twitch towards her weapon so she doesn’t hesitate in ducking past her and planting her squishy caster butt right behind the Inquisitor. Surely Cassandra wouldn’t hurt Evelyn to get to her, would she? Elion wonders, ignoring Evelyn’s sigh at the situation.

“No, I’m not! Magic like that is strong; we just walked hundreds of miles in the blink of an eye!” She doesn’t voice the fact that she has the power to cast it again. Okay, technically, she didn’t lie, _technically_. She can’t send them back. Not when Goma is within her reach so she brings steel to her eyes and steps up from behind Evelyn, meeting Cassandra’s gaze.

“I can’t send you back.” She repeats, putter all of her will behind the words. Deception was never her strong suit; they tended to leave that to port most of the time but Port is not here and no matter how much she tries, her Animal Friendship spells never register people as… you know, animals _even though they’re similar enough, right?_ Elion stills and lets Cassandra’s Seeker of Truth gaze pierce her, fighting back the smile that threatens to bloom across her face when the woman shakes her head and turns away from Elion with a disgusted noise.

“If you give me about ten minutes, I’m sure I can find a bird that’ll let us know where the Inquisition camp is!”

“ _Uh,_ how about we let the Seeker handle this one, Marbles.” Varric mutters beside her. She bends down slightly and brings a hand to her face to obscure her mouth from the others

“I’m a lot faster though,” she says in that comical _‘I’m going to act like I’m whispering when I’m not because it’s fun’_ she picked up from Port. Varric mirrors her actions, making her smile widen. She likes Varric,

“Faster than her sword?”

“ _Uh…_ ”

“Didn’t think so.”

The charade is broken by Cassandra’s blunt tone. “You know I can hear you, right?”

 

* * *

 

They do find the Inquisition camp by nightfall and Elion delights in the clumsy apologies the scouts give for not expecting the Inquisitor’s arrival. There’s a certain rush that comes with exceeding expectations that widens her grin until it hurts and has her skipping around camp while Evelyn is informed on the layout of the region and possible dangers she may face.

Elion allows herself one second of doubt; one second of _‘where would I be if Evelyn wasn’t so generous? If they decided to leave me in the Storm Coast?_ ’ before she returns to one of the campfires set to the outskirts of the camp and plops herself down next to Solas. He frowns at her use of _Control Flame_ , watching the birds, rabbits and various small animal dance in the fire.

“I am amazed we have not been set upon by a Pride demon.” One of the birds breaks away from its brethren to circle the campfire, flying dangerously close to his face. He doesn’t spare the shapes a second glance, choosing to fix Elion with the same cold, judgemental stare she has come to know so well.

“Come on Solas, lighten up.” Elion snorts at her choice of words. “What do you think? Not too shabby, _eh_?”

His frown grows more pronounced with every animal she conjures. “Such frivolity attracts the attention of spirits.”

“No it doesn’t.” To be honest Elion has no idea if it really does but launching him into a tirade about all the rules of magic she’s breaking just by existing makes her laugh. Sometimes. When he’s not in one of his broody moods and chews her out more viciously than usual.

“Just because your trance removes you from the Fade does not mean the spirits won’t feel your effect on this world. Especially with the Breach.”

“Yes but… I’m useful.” Elion states bluntly. It’s not meant as an insult, merely an observation on their level of skill. “Your magic works different than mine but you’re limited in the things you can do. I am too, to some degree but I just shaved off weeks of travel.” Elion leans closer, one hand supporting her weight on the ground beneath. He doesn’t move away when she invades his personal bubble to whisper over the crackle of the firewood. “You and I both know we won’t need the extra soldiers to deal with the villa.”

“While that may be true, it won’t keep the Veil intact.” With a roll of the eyes and an exaggerated mouthing of _‘By the Gods’_ Elion falls back on the grass, using her arms to support her head. The embers of the fire drift up into her field of vision as she squints up at the two moons of Thedas.

“I mean does it have to be?” The words are spoken in jest but they hold the undertones of curiosity. “ It sounds like all it does is turn spirits into demons when they get here. Like yeah, I get it, we do that to them too but the Breach is the big bad here. Priorities.”

The silence between the two of them drags on but Elion is content watching the Inquisition scouts and her companions retreat to their respective tents one by one. “The Fade is immaterial raw magic. To bring it down upon the world would mean irreversible damage.”

Elion shrugs. “Yeah but isn’t that because you think it’s immediate? Let’s say thousands of years from now – maybe more – the Veil isn’t even present anymore. Eh, you’re the brains here, okay? You have all the arcane Fade knowledge, not me. To be fair with all the demons we’ve seen around, maybe getting rid of the Veil isn’t such a good idea.”

“Demons are but spirits twisted from their purpose. Spirits are very sensitive to negative emotions, sometimes going so far as to be infected by them.”

“I know. Doesn't make it sound any less horrible.”

“I imagine it must be.” His voice is quiet. Elion pauses for a few heartbeats, making sure the conversation has truly ended before she stands up and brushes the dirt from her clothes.

“ _Well_. Good talk, Solas. You should try not being so uppity all the time, you’re kinda nice to talk to in small doses.” She skedaddles away before he has the opportunity to respond and ducks into the tent set up for Evelyn. The Inquisitor has yet to conclude her business with the requisition officers so Elion takes advantage of this by doffing her armor and preparing her own sleeping furs next to Evelyn’s cot. Tomorrow they'll set out for Villa Maurel and hopefully bump into Goma along the way. Though knowing Elion's luck, Goma might be one of the bandits holed up in there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I wanted her and Goma to reunite in this chapter but then i was like 'WAIT A MINUTE the paladin hasn't has her wtf moment yet' so I didn't ayeeeee!
> 
> Yes I have character sheets for these four nerds and I'm rolling to see if they succeed or not in various endeavors because that makes it fun. Took a look at Elion's sheet and almost did a double take at the amount of languages she knows cuz I gave her the Linguist feat just because I HAVE A VISION DAMMIT of the far far off Tresspasser future.
> 
> Anyway, waiting months for almost 2k words? Sorry about that QwQ


End file.
